


head over feet

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: And Can Only Window Shop, Half-Naked Hot Dad Bods, James Visits The Candy Shop, M/M, Swooning Hot Messes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 12:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: The first time James Fitzjames saw Francis Crozier in a state of partial undress, he fell head-over-boots into the berth.





	head over feet

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to **Kami** for the inspiration! <3

The first time James Fitzjames saw Francis Crozier in a state of partial undress, he fell head-over-boots into the berth. 

Until that moment, the evening had been as any other. They had removed their coats, as was the custom when they were out of sight of the wardroom. James was wearing his cabled sweater and Francis in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. And then, Francis had accidentally upended the dregs of the water pitcher over his shirtfront, in the middle of making a very pointed comment about James’s handwriting.

James was about to parry with an equally clever remark about Francis’s inability to pour water and speak truth at the same time, but it was then that the  _ Terror  _ Captain got up from the table with a heavy sigh, and went to rifle through his bureau.

“God damned table lists worse every day.”

A drawer opened and closed.

“Suppose you’ll have to have the boys rig it up again in the morning.” James – fool that he was – got up from the table and followed Francis to the door, forgetting all manners in his attempt to soothe Francis’s annoyance. “We can always – ”

His ears tracked the soft rustle of fabric as it was pulled off and discarded into the floor before his eyes could countenance the astonishing fact that came afterwards: Francis Crozier,  _ Terror  _ Captain and expedition commander, now stood half-naked before him in the dimly-lit berth, stripped bare to the waist with his trousers unlaced and both braces dangling around thick, sturdy thighs.

His bare chest was broad and muscled in a way that belied his true age. Although his stomach had gone soft and slightly rounded, it lent him an air of masculinity that could not be attained by lithe, lean boys. Francis’s pale skin was freckled and patched pink from the cold, and the entire picture was accentuated by a thatch of light chest hair. Both nipples, furled tight as rosebuds, had perked up from the cold. He was, in all honesty, beautiful.

James was so shocked he could hear nothing save the heated rush of blood in his ears and the fierce pounding of his own heart throughout his entire body. Almost as a reflex, he listed sideways into the doorframe, placing one hand over his breast and sucking in a shallow, slight breath.

Francis was still occupied in the search for a clean shirt – was saying something to him, even – but all James could do was stand and gape and  _ stare  _ at his stocky muscled form like a man struck mute. The only logical thought rolling round his head was  _ I must have him _ , but it was impossible – it was madness – good Christ, how on earth could one man be so utterly and unfairly striking?! It defied all reason and sense. It defied –  _ everything  _ James had first thought about Captain Francis Crozier on first meeting: that he was too old, not seaworthy, awkward and ill-suited for the uniform. And now he –

“James.”

Startling, James pulled his hand away from his waistcoat. Rubbed at his mouth. Cleared his throat. His voice cracked despite his best efforts. “Hm?”

Francis was frowning at him. Both arms were stuck into his shirtsleeves, but he had not yet pulled the majority of it over his head. “You all right?”

“I––yes.” James drew in a breath. Skittish, as clumsy as a colt taking its first steps, he forced his legs to move, and took a seat on the edge of Francis’s bunk. “You, er. Keep a neat berth.”

The loud snort and subsequent laugh this prompted was nothing short of delightful. Francis raised a skeptical eyebrow as if to deny this plain fact, but his entire body shook with good humour; James wondered absently if his chest should flush and his stomach muscles should contract like that in all pleasing positions, and decided he should not stare at the man’s middle any longer, lest he be discovered out. Instead, from the corner of one eye, he watched Francis pull the shirt over his head and fix his cuffs and buttons as carefully as any steward.

“––assume yours is much neater.”

“What?” James had the distant feeling he had been asked a question, but he had been too focused on the way Francis’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he concentrated on fastening the buttons on his waistcoat. “Oh, no. Damned disaster.”

Francis laughed a third time, loud and long, which sent a dim buzzing sensation into James’s hands and feet. He’d made Francis laugh more than once today. Truly laugh. And he’d seen him half-undressed while doing it. Oh, dear Christ, how was one man possibly supposed to cope with such visceral distractions?

Both fearful and awe-struck by the prospect that he might be noticed in such complete disarray, James drew his knees up to his chest with no real idea of how he might rearrange his position after doing so. After a moment, he decided to lie sideways at the foot of the bunk with his boots propped on the rail and his elbow propping up his head, breathing in the scent of Francis’s bedclothes and utterly unable to take his eyes off the man in front of him. Who was now staring at him as if he’d sprouted wings. 

“Are you poorly, James?”

“I––er. Not poorly, no. Just––had to put my feet up.”

Francis’s countenance turned understanding. “Oh, sorry. Should have said something about the rat.” He let out a sigh. “Threw a book at it last night. Didn’t even kill it. Hoped Neptune had got the blasted thing by now.”

“Ah.” In truth, the berth could have been filled with all manner of creatures destined for the Pied Piper’s adventures and James would probably not have noticed. He was still seeing the way Francis’s biceps had tensed and flexed as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry,” said Francis, that same smile dancing around the corner of his mouth again. “Your prized boots are safe.”

“Wh – I’m not  _ afraid _ for my boots, Francis,” James spluttered, pushing himself back up into a seated position; he attempted to look winning and attractive despite all evidence to the contrary as he leaned backwards against the berth wall. “That would be ridiculous.”

_ As ridiculous as wanting to map every freckle on your chest with my–– _

“I daresay it would be, yes.” Francis was still peering at him, with less mirth, this time. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Nnh. Yes. I mean––don’t trouble yourself. I often find that––” he stumbled, mid-sentence “––Jesus  _ fuck! _ ”

Tragically, in the midst of delivering what was bound to be a truly excellent excuse, James attempted to stand on wobbly legs, immediately pitched forward into the doorway as his knees buckled under him, and bashed his forehead against the doorframe on the way down.

 

##

 

“Here you go.” Carefully, Francis pressed the cheesecloth-wrapped bundle of ice against the swollen egg-sized lump on James’s head. James made a mournful noise, but as he still had the corner of a handkerchief plugging one nostril, he could do nothing save cross his arms over his chest as Francis tended to him. “Easy, now.”

Although Francis did not think James had a nervous constitution, his Second had been acting rather funny all evening. Perhaps he had forgot to eat dinner again, or was worried over some small matter on  _ Erebus _ .

James just groaned, and shifted his gaze to the floor. “Francis, you really needn’t fuss.”

“I just saw my Second pitch directly into a door frame after his knees went out from under him,” Francis answered, by way of argument. “What would you do in my place, hm?”

“Crawl under my blankets and pretend ‘m dead,” grumbled Fitzjames.

Francis could not help smiling. Why James was in such a strange mood today was beyond reasoning, but he could not say these black-hearted jokes displeased him. It had been a long time since James had made him laugh so much over the course of a single evening. “Honestly. You’re stealing all my best complaints.”

“Come off it, Francis.” Sighing, James removed the ice pack from his forehead, where the nasty welt that had been there a half hour ago had merely settled down into a slight swelling.    
“If anything here has been stolen, it is my pride, my dignity, and the surety of knowing I can ever stand in your presence again without falling all over myself.”

“False.” Francis put a hand on James’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, come morning.”

“Mmph.”

“You will.” Francis did not move his hand, although his fingers burned like a brand against the solid lines of James’s neck and upper back. “And I’ll not breathe a word about it.”

Gingerly, he reached out and removed the handkerchief that obscured his Second’s face, studying the area very carefully for additional blood before he was satisfied the wound had been properly staunched. This done, he continued to glance over James’s features, ensuring no other part of him had been unduly harmed in the fall. His aquiline nose was more or less straight, if marred by the old break, and graced by a whisper of red around one nostril. His cheeks and chin were equally fine. His lips still formed their little Cupid’s bow, and were not split a whit.

Now merely curious, indulging his own stupidity, Francis kept staring at James’s mouth and the lines around it, studying every divot and fine line here until he raised his glance to James’s eyes and saw his Second staring back at him, utterly silent.

“Sorry,” Francis said quickly.

“Francis.” Slowly, James pressed a hand to his bicep, grasped at his shirtsleeve with shaking fingers. “I beg of you. Do not taunt me.”

“I would not,” answered Francis, voice equally quiet. “Only––”

His soft retort was muffled when James leaned forward and pressed his lips to Francis’s, kissing him so sweetly it felt like the beginnings of a fever dream.

Heedless, Francis swayed forward, falling prey to the visions this conjured up before remembering himself, and pulling away. “Er. Don’t forget––the ice.”

James had turned a very obvious shade of pink, and made the same face he had seconds before the first fainting spell had occurred before sighing very loudly, and leaning backwards in his chair. “Yes. We, ah. Are still in it.”

“Oh, no, I meant––the table ice.” Certain that James had meant to kiss his cheek or his brow as opposed to his mouth, Francis was now completely focused on not embarrassing the man any further. “For your face. Unless I’ve got some on my––I mean––” he swiped at his heated lips, suddenly worried he had a string of spittle on his face, and could think of nothing more horrifying. “I’ll just, erm. Get some water. Be back in a minute.”

Because he was a pillar of strength for the men under his command, Francis kept his head about him in times of crisis; as such, he did not run out of the cabin as quickly as he desired, merely walked at his usual brisk pace till he reached the quarterdeck, and could draw a few breaths of sharp Arctic air into his burning lungs.

 

##

 

Later, when Francis shared this story with Tom Blanky, he was able to look back on the moment with a bit more humour. Once Tom stopped laughing, anyway. You’d have thought Francis was telling him the world’s greatest joke, the way he howled and slapped his knee.

“––I mean, I’ve no bloody idea what came over the man, not that I told him so, mind. One minute we were talking, I changed my shirt, and then he went all wobbly-legged and witless. And then he accidentally kissed me.”

Blanky’s head snapped up so quickly it was as if he’d been yanked to attention by a hidden string. “What?”

“Oh. Just––went a bit tongue-tied, afterward.” Francis waved away this detail. “Tried to kiss my cheek, misjudged the distance. Think he was still seeing double from the fall.”

Blanky was still peering at him in a very odd way, as if he’d missed something rather important. “So you took off your kit while he was in your berth.”

“Only the shirt.”

“Aye. And then he got all dithery, and pitched backwards onto your bunk, still wearin’ his boots.”

“Yeah. Before he fell into the door.”

“And you’re certain that was the moment he came over all bothered, eh?”

“How many times do I have to bloody tell you?” demanded Francis, although he was not truly upset. It was odd for Tom to be so oblivious. “His knees went wobbly, he fell into the doorframe trying to stand on his own two feet, and then I had to make sure he hadn’t concussed himself stone dead, obviously.”

“Right.” Blanky had given up tamping down the tobacco in his pipe, and was now pointing the mouthpiece at Francis as if he were giving instructions at the blackboard. “And so after the wobbly spell, when you were sitting back in the cabin, he took your hand, looked you dead in the face, and kissed you. That the way of it?”

Francis just shrugged. “Suppose that’s all.”

“Hm.” Blanky struck the match, puffed several times till the tobacco caught fire, and sighed out a long breath of smoke. “Is it now?”

“Well, I don’t see what good humiliating the man will do now. I mean, he’s already been through enough.”

“And y’don’t think it could’ve been purposeful, eh?”

“What could? The fall?”

“Thing that came after,” said Blanky, very tightly, as his pipe was clenched between his teeth. “Jus’ –– walk me through it all again, duck. Slow and careful-like.”

“Christ, Thomas,” hissed Francis, with a roll of his eyes. “Fine. I spilled water on myself, changed my damn shirt, James got all woozy, he fell, and then he kissed me.”

“And it’s all connected because….?”

Francis shot him a mulish glare. “It happened one right after the other.” 

“Aye, but in the outer room, he picked up your hand, did you say?”

“Put a hand on his arm.”

“And then he did the same.”

“Right.”

“And then ye stared at each other, straight in the eyes, neither of ye sayin’ a bloody word.”

“For Christ’s sake––”

“And then he kissed ye flush on the mouth. Afterward, he turned all pink, made the weird face again, and you came straight up to the quarterdeck without another word between you.”

“Stop trying to tell me what happened! I know what happened!”

“Aye, ye do.”

“Obviously it was an accident.”

“Why’s that, now?”

“Well––because––because obviously he wouldn’t’ve just––”

“Sounds an awful lot like the kind of call you’d’ve paid Miss Cracroft, early on. Made up any excuse to see her private quarters.”

“No, it bloody well wasn’t like that!” Francis pointed an accusing finger, a warning. “All right? It’s different, because at the time I wasn’t––she was the one who practically––”

“Aye.”

A small, niggling thought rose in the back of Francis’s mind.  _ Sophia practically tore her clothes off to earn your attention. And you yanked your shirt off in front of James as if it was nothing.  _ “You don’t mean to say that he––that it was–– _ purposeful _ ?”

“Can’t tell ye. Weren’t present.”

That tiny thought had now wormed its way into the front of Francis’s mind, eclipsing all others.  _ What if it wasn’t an accident?  _ “Thomas, what if he actually meant to––”

“There it is,” sighed Blanky, as if he had been waiting for this revelation all along.

Flushing as purple as a frostbitten midshipman, Francis put his face in his hands with a low, despairing groan.

 

##

 

“There, now.” Bridgens deposited a hot tea onto Captain Fitzjames’s desk with a soft noise of encouragement. “I’m sure whatever’s troubling you will turn out just fine in the morning.”

The  _ Erebus  _ Captain, facedown in his bunk in full uniform, with the blankets pulled over him, merely whined out a displeased noise.

“Ought to drink your tea before it goes cold.” Bridgens reminded him.

“Nnngh,” came the muffled reply from the bedcovers, which appeared to translate roughly to  _ no thank you, Bridgens, I could not drink a drop.  _

Bridgens fought to keep a straight face at the sight. It was difficult to see the Captain as his true age in this moment, as a young man in his prime who was burdened with the running of a ship and all the souls aboard it, instead of as a frustrated slip of a boy who should take to his bed the second his overtures were rebuffed.

Had he made any intimation of his feelings toward Captain Crozier? Advances, even? Bridgens did not know, and did not dare ask, but it did not take the Oracle of Delphi to see that the two Captains were clearly drawn to each other, and that perhaps the evening had not gone as well as one person should have liked.

“Would you rather talk about what’s troubling you, sir? I’d be happy to offer any advice, if it might help.”

“No,” came the eventual sigh, although the Captain did not lift his head from the pillows. “But I thank you.”

 

##

 

“ _ Fucking hell! _ ”

This was the plainest thing Francis had said in nigh on ten minutes of pacing and growling. He was beginning to resemble nowt so much as a caged bear in a circus performance, but Blanky knew better than to interrupt a man in the grip of panic, and so he kept quiet, like, makin’ sure Frank weren’t planning to throw himself off the side of the ship, but saying nowt apart from mumbling every now and then.

“He thought––” Francis blushed prettier’n a maid at her first country ball, expression going all capt and moon-eyed. “He went all––and then I––”

Blanky clicked his pipe between his teeth, made a sort of agreeable noise. Rate they’d got here, he’d be plumb out of tobacco by the time Frank plotted his next course.

“Thomas.” Nearly skidding to a stop on the icy planks, Francis quit pacing, rounded on him, and looked him full in the face. “Do you think I should––talk to him, then? Should I ask if––?” 

Averting his eyes, Francis flushed even darker, and yanked at his cuffs and lapels. Jesus God, he were so worked up over a single kiss it was a wonder the man was still standing. Either that or our Jamie was callin’ to him louder than a damn siren.

“Can’t rightly say what ye should do, Frank.” Easing himself up to his full height, Blanky lifted one shoulder in a shrug, took his still-smouldering pipe from his mouth. “But tha’ knows thee own mind well enough, and if it’s unchanged come morning, then you’re on the right course, whatever happens.”

Although Frank gave him a wide-eyed look that lived up to his ship’s name, he said nowt in return, and so Thomas took his leave of his friend, humming to himself as he walked the short distance back to his own bunk.

 

##

 

It was barely past two bells when Bridgens heard a knock at the door of the Great Cabin.

Puzzled, not knowing who might call at this hour nor anyone who might take the time to knock while doing so, he answered it only to find Captain Crozier on the other side.

“Well. Good morning, Captain.”

“Morning, Mister Bridgens.” Crozier peered around the doorway, deflated visibly when he saw the Great Cabin remained empty. “Is Captain Fitzjames still abed, then?”

“Not for much longer.” Bridgens consulted his watch. In truth, the man was likely still facedown beneath his covers. “Yes, I daresay—“

At this, the door to the berth was yanked open, and Captain Fitzjames stumbled out, clad only in his nightshirt with his hair tangled around his shoulders and his face pale from lack of sleep.

“Francis?” He seemed not to understand the reason for such a visit. “What are you—is something wrong?”

“What? No, no. Nothing.” Crozier glanced toward the brazier. “I just—“

A strange, hopeful light had entered Captain Fitzjames’ face. “Just?”

“Well, I––wanted to ask how your head was. I mean. If––if you are well, today. Your health. Are you well?”

Captain Fitzjames blinked back at him, mouth falling open in surprise. “Erm. Yes?”

“Good.” Captain Crozier made a pleased face, and pursed his mouth as if there were still much more to say which he could not presently voice. “Very good. I, ah, am glad to hear it.”

“Begging your pardon, sirs,” Bridgens interrupted, raising a hand to get the Captain’s attention; it proved rather difficult, given the way Captain Fitzjames’ eyes so hungrily roved over his First’s reddened face. “Might I bring you both anything before I begin my usual duties? Only it’s nearly time to start breakfast for the wardroom.”

“Oh,” said Fitzjames slowly, visibly shocked by this message, although breakfast had been served at three bells on the dot every day since they had departed Portsmouth. “Oh, no, thank you, Bridgens. Captain Crozier, perhaps we two should speak within before the meal. If that––if it is not––”

“No.” Crozier somehow flushed even redder under his cap. “I mean yes, of course. We’ll speak. That will be all, Mister Bridgens, thank you.”

John held his tongue and his knowing smile to himself till he had safely closed the door of the Great Cabin behind him. After placing a few articles onto a tea tray, idly preparing for breakfast, he heard Crozier’s near-immediate exclamation. “James, I know why you––what happened yesterday.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Crozier pitched his voice even quieter; Bridgens had to lean in to catch this last sentence. “Should I not have come? Is that not what you––?”

Whatever Captain Fitzjames said, or did, in reply was cut off by a distinct gasp, and the muffled  _ thunk  _ of a door opening or perhaps closing, at which point John decided to give the two Captains their privacy, and went to go help Hoar and Aylmore with the table setting.

Ten minutes later, Captain Fitzjames arrived in the wardroom, dressed for the day with not a hair out of place, and positively beaming.

“Good lord, James.” Halfway through a bowl of oatmeal, Le Vesconte seemed mystified by his fellow officer’s good cheer. “‘S too early for all that.”

“It is never too early for anything, Henry. I come bearing news, and a special––”

Before Captain Fitzjames could finish the sentence, Captain Crozier poked his head inside the door, and entered the room without ceremony. “He means me. I am joining you all before the meeting.”

“Really?” murmured Le Vesconte, glancing back down at his spoon and then up at the two Captains with the utmost confusion as the other officers murmured a good morning in turn. “Well. Good morning, then, sir.”

“Well met, Lieutenant.” Crozier seemed not to know what to do with himself as he sat down in Captain Fitzjames’s usual chair, but he was smiling when he glanced away. “Yes.”


End file.
